cooking, poetry, and unapologetic intense moments in a life
Sandman. Or keep passing the open windows.
Muscle slips from bone
shutter eyes begin a short story
It begins with something blue, some liquid
some pulse matter that wraps
even the fierce fire
in wet safety.
Each beat,breath cherishes the one before. They are all some celestial gift or some
fodder for butterfly kisses
each picture sneaks in a longer look at your sideways sleeping cheek
fleshy, soft, replete with
the most flight worthy birds
We whisper a secret in our tongues that only morning understands.
Fickle, fickle morning. Fickle first light.
The first light where you were most lovely.
Most lovely in that light.